


Absence

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Comfort, F/F, Hurt, Mentions of Jack Kline, Post-Episode: s14e18 Absence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Whilst taking care of Rowena, reader engages her in a talk about the day's events and Jack's descent into madness.





	Absence

Rowena claimed she was fine.

You would have believed her, if not for the large, purple bruise covering her thigh, side, and upper arm.

Being supernaturally thrown into a wall tended to do that to a person.

Getting her to lie down was one of the most difficult things you'd had to do lately, second only to that spell you'd cast two weeks ago that had, while working perfectly, almost set the house on fire. Rowena had been proud. There had been tears and unpleasant memories and a particularly bad nightmare later that night, but she'd been proud.

You had to threaten to drag her to bed and force her into it, with magic if you had to, for her to finally roll her eyes, sigh, stalk to the bedroom (with your help, which you'd also provided against her will. Despite what she said, leaning heavily on one side and panting wasn't the walk of someone who was simply tired after an eventful day), all the while stabbing her heels down like a pissed off, stomping bunny rabbit, and lay down.

Then you removed her jacket and shirt and the full extent of her not-fineness hit you like a punch straight to the gut, a strong one that drained all the air from your guts and made you struggle to breathe amidst a sea of searing pain.

Yes, she was naturally pale, and yes, she somewhat easily bruised, and it might as well have looked worse that it was, but it was still a rather sizable injury and you couldn't just let it go. Not even when she pouted and, when that didn't work, scrunched her face. Cuteness couldn't get her out of this one.

"Seriously, Y/N, I'm fine," Rowena said for what must have been the hundredth time. She was annoyed, but there was no drive behind it, no anger that used to accompany that tone years back when you were nothing more than a pawn to her, an apprentice who cared way too much about someone who didn't give a damn about her.

It ended up paying off. You were the first person she'd come to trust in centuries, all because you'd found it in your heart to care, to give her a chance, to see the person behind the iron-forged mask.

"Rowena, please," you said, also for the hundredth time, running out of patience. You loved the woman, but she could be difficult to handle. Worse than a child who refused to go to the dentist when their tooth ached.

Thinking about it, you'd gotten her into bed the same way you'd get a stubborn child to the dentist — by threats and force.

You set a cup of tea and a mug of healing potion on the bedside table, both steaming, filling the room with pleasant smells that reminded you of spring. "Let these cool off a bit," you instructed. Not that it was necessary; she knew the potion by heart, and she damn well knew how she best liked her tea. Still, a bit of precaution never hurt.

"You worry too much," Rowena said, sighing in defeat. There was no use fighting you when you were in full-on mama hen mode, and she knew it. "I've been thrown into things countless times before. Always got over it."

Ah, the been-there-done-that argument. One of her favorite ones. You fixed her with a look. "Is it so bad I wanna take care of you  _ this time? _ You're not alone anymore, y'know. You don't have to walk it off and act like it's nothing."

"That's not…"

Whatever she'd intended to say died down in an exhale. She knew you were right. Just as you'd been right all those times before, when she was kicked, punched, thrown around, blasted with magic… You name it, she'd gone through it, and she'd insisted she was fine every single time. A nasty and rather heartbreaking habit you refused to indulge.

She closed her eyes for a short moment, and when she opened them again all defiance was gone as if it had never been there. "I'm not trying to come across as ungrateful."

"I know," you assured her, squeezing her hand. The corners of your mouth curled up in a smile. "You're just a stubborn wee thing."

"I am  _ not _ wee!" Rowena said indignantly.

You raised an eyebrow, prompting her to roll her eyes in that way that was too dramatic to be genuine.

"You're the wee-est wee that ever wee-ed," you teased.

She smacked your hand playfully. "Shut up!"

You grinned. Then, face growing serious, you asked her the question you'd been meaning to ask since the moment she'd been thrown back into the house, "Did he hurt you?"

Jack Kline was a puppy who, a month ago, you would have sworn could never hurt a fly, let alone Rowena. Despite a rocky start, the two had grown close rather fast, developing a relationship akin that of an aunt and a nephew. But, despite his outward innocence, Jack was still a nephilim, and, as of recently, a soulless one at that. He'd killed Mary Winchester, the woman who'd, as you'd heard, been like a grandmother to him; it was an accident, but he still did it. He was scared, alone, and desperate. There was no telling what someone in that state might do.

"No," Rowena said with a shake of her head. "Jack was… scared. He desperately wanted to fix what he'd done. It was irrational, and yes, I was scared, but I sensed nothing malicious from the boy. There was just desperation. He's lacking a soul, but he still has the good that's been instilled in him. His morals, and lack thereof, are at war with each other. He doesn't know what he's doing, the poor dear. I think-I think he knows he has to do something, or thinks so at least, so he's doing everything he can think of without considering the consequences. It's tragic, really."

Tragic was the perfect way to describe it. Horrible. Heartbreaking. You'd only met the nephilim a few times, but you'd developed a certain fondness for him. Despite his looks, he was still a child. A cheerful little two-year old who greeted everyone with smiles and loved candy. A boy who accepted Rowena into his life right away, without a single strain of judgment. Who asked you questions about your relationship, and laughed when you told him of all the ways you messed with your girlfriend. Who never once thought of either you or Rowena differently for being witches, never looked at you as anything other than people.

He was too good to last. People like that always were.

"Is there a way to fix him?" you asked.

Rowena shook her head. "Unless the Winchesters come across a miracle, Jack is too far gone. There is no telling what he will do next."

"He's dangerous?" you asked, though you knew the answer before the words even left your mouth.

"Very."

"Well, that sucks."

Rowena chuckled. "That's one way to put it."

"I liked him," you said sadly.

"Me, too, dear," she said, clasping her hand over yours. A small gesture of comfort that warmed your heart. "He was a sweet boy. It's a shame it had to end like this."

"Think we're in danger?" you asked. "If-if he snaps."

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "I wouldn't think he'd target us specifically, but at this stage, he's unpredictable."

Great. Just what you needed. Another angelic being potentially going after the two of you. Like father, like son, you supposed.

"We should renew the warding, just to be sure," you said. Rowena nodded her agreement. "Tomorrow after breakfast, if you're well?"

"I will be," she said firmly.

Great. It was a plan.

"How you feeling now?"

"Good. It genuinely doesn't hurt." She tried to raise up to sit, and her face instantly contorted with pain, forcing her to remain lying down. "Unless I move, apparently," she said bitterly.

"Then don't move," you told her. "Stay there like a good girl."

She smirked, teasing, naughty. "What if I'm a bad girl?"

"There are spells to help with that," you said flatly.

Rowena pouted. "You're no fun."

"Not when it comes to your health." You pecked her on her puckered lips. "Healing now, sexy times later."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Will you at least stay with me?" she asked, not too happy with the arrangement. "I've nothing to do. It gets awfully dull here when I'm alone."

"I'm not going anywhere," you assured her. "Wanna do anything in particular?"

Rowena's face betrayed that there was, in fact, an activity she'd very much love to engage in, but you'd already agreed to put it on hold until she was better. So, instead, she said, "Just be here."

"You got it." You could read, or play games on your phone, or watch a movie. Or, if that got boring, mess with Rowena. Annoying her could be quite fun. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will, dear."

Maybe you could force her to watch Sharktopus. Or would that be cruel and unusual punishment?

Whatever the two of you ended up doing, what was most important was that you were together, safe from raging nephilims and desperate hunters begging for help.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


End file.
